We hate 24-Hour Fitness and so should you.

Hello, people, and welcome to the Howdygram!

I promised Sam I’d write a post today as a public service for unsuspecting Americans, alerting them to the fact that 24-Hour Fitness — may they forever rot in hell! — is as big a scourge on society as ambulance chasers, pit bulls, payday lenders and high fructose corn syrup. WE HATE 24-HOUR FITNESS AND SO SHOULD YOU.

So here’s what’s what. In mid-October Sam signed up for a month-to-month gym membership in order to meet a short-term goal. At the time the only requirement was to pay the first and last month in advance, which he did, covering membership through December 14. Unfortunately, this past Saturday 24-Hour Fitness processed an automatic charge to Sam’s credit card for a third month of membership beginning on December 15, so Sam called to cancel and get the charge reversed but their billing department is closed on Saturdays. Naturally, when Sam called again first thing this morning he wound up in a battle to the death with a scripted asshole who refused to budge on the December charge. Apparently 30 days’ notice is good enough for a landlord but insufficient for 24-Hour Fitness, who arbitrarily believes you have to cancel 40 days — FORTY FUCKING DAYS! — before your next billing cycle ... and to hell with you for not knowing this.

These people are bunch of thieves. Although I have no idea if Sam plans to fight this with our credit card company (I hope he does!) please stay tuned for additional developments ... providing you give a crap. Thank you.

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Yesterday Sam and I watched The Godfather (1973) starring Al Pacino, Marlon Brando, James Caan and a lot of spaghetti. Every time we see this movie we love it more, if that’s even possible. What a gem! My favorite scenes include Sonny getting blown apart on the causeway, the horse’s head in John Marley’s bed and that fateful dinner-for-three with Michael, Captain McCluskey and Sollozzo. It just doesn’t get much better than this! Just between us, I absolutely never understood why Michael wanted to marry Diane Keaton because she was such a fucking drip. And that stupid haircut.

My blockbuster movie for tonight is Giant (1956) starring Rock Hudson when everybody still thought he was straight, Elizabeth Taylor and James Dean. This is another one of my favorite movies and does a pretty good job covering the history of Texas in the early part of the 20th century with regards to immigration/racism, oil, cattle, new money and greedy land barons with really nice houses.

Just for the record, I am NOT a fan of James Dean. He was a angst-ridden little shrimp who always looked miserable (evidently because he WAS) and his character in Giant was a brilliant stroke of casting, as he plays an irritating, self-important clod named Jett Rink who mumbles and stares at his shoes. (See below for a classic example of mumbling and shoe-staring.)

Many thanks for dropping in tonight. I think I need a nice hot shower now.